


Sight

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Violence, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens is the same old argument that always results in Chester being rushed to the emergency room</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sight

How Chester goes blind is he starts an argument with Brad. It’s the same-old-same-old “You’re drinking again,” argument that always results in Chester being rushed to the emergency room.

The singer sidles into the living room, his body tense and his heart pounding. He clears his throat awkwardly and takes a deep breath, “The oven won’t work,” he murmurs, ducking his head when Brad looks up from where he is sitting on the couch with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“I don’t give a shit,” he hisses, taking a swig from the bottle and kicking his feet up on the coffee table he just made Chester scrub clean after he fucked him roughly on it.

“I can’t make dinner if it doesn’t work.” Chester states. Then, bravely, “Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking so much, baby.”

Brad laughs and gets up, staggering over to where the singer hovers nervously in the doorway, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” He snaps, causing Chester to visibly cower. What makes the whole situation even more amusing for Brad is the fact that, beside Chester, he’s thin and not all that strong. Chester could knock him out if he tried.

But he’s in love. And you don’t hurt the people you love, apparently.

“I can do what the fuck I want, can’t I baby?”

Chester nods, blushing and stepping back, “I’m s-sorry. I…the oven…I can’t make you dinner.”

“Well then buy a new one. I really don’t care. But don’t you dare order in. I want you to make me a meal by yourself.”

“It’s a-a Sunday. Everywhere is closed.”

Brad growls and back hands the singer roughly sending him reeling backwards. “I believe I already said I don’t give a shit.” He grabs Chester’s arm roughly and drags him into the kitchen, “Let’s just see how broken this piece of crap really is.”

He turns the gas on the hob up all the way and raises an eyebrow at the hiss that fills the room, “Seems to be working fine,” he says, presses the ignite button and watches the spark set the gas on fire all the way around. “Fucking liar. You’re just too good to cook for me, is that it? Thought you could get away with it?”

Chester panics, pulling hard against Brad’s vice-like grip on his arm, “I swear to God I’m not lying. I-it wouldn’t work! Please I’m sorry.”

Brad rolls his eyes and pretends to gag, “Yeah whatever princess. Save it for someone who cares. It’s working fine and dandy right now,” he growls, pushing Chester forward and bending him over to stare directly down into the flames, “See?”

Chester cries out as he feels the heat begin to burn his skin, “B-brad I’m sorry. L-Let me g-go.”

Brad, he’s tired of this crap. Pushes Chester’s face down further into the fire and sighs contently at the sickening cries of his lover as the flames lap at his skin, his eyes. He re-adjusts his grip on the singer’s hair, turning his head to one side causing Chester’s screams and struggles to become more intense. “Oh god this is making me so hot.”

He has to laugh. Hot. Fire. Ha-fucking-ha.

Chester is on the verge of passing out from the pain when Brad turns his head and fire burns his other cheek. Then his eye. His skin blistering and breaking from the heat.

The world has already gone foggy and the pain is unbearable when Brad pulls him away and pushes him to the floor, jerking himself off as he calls nine one one.

“Hey I need an ambulance. Or a hearse. I’m not sure.” He says, “My friend tried to kill himself. He’s all burned and shit.”

Chester passes out as Brad comes with a low moan, and his last thought is thank God.

***

When he wakes up he can’t see anything. He raises a hand to his face and touches the tight wad of gauze and bandages wrapped around his head. He blinks, waiting for his vision to return. It hits him that he’s blind. He cries tearlessly. His tear-ducts have been destroyed.

Beside his bed comes a voice. Brad’s voice, and Chester cries louder.

“Oh god Ches’ I thought you were going to die,” Brad sobs, “Why would you do this to yourself? Why?”

Chester stares blindly in the other direction.

And he cries.


End file.
